


Of the Fittest

by rosa_himmelblau



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Missing Scene, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Hutch survives.





	

For a second he was warm, comfortable in his own bed, Starsky's voice was purring in his ear, and life was fine. Then he wakened fully, still alone in the cold darkness, still horribly crushed under his car. He wanted to scream with disappointment and anguish until he realized only part of his dream had been a dream; the voice was hardly purring, but it was most definitely Starsky's.

"—don't tell me there's nothing; somebody's gotta heard somethin', seen somethin', somethin'! An' I wanna know what it is an' I wanna know it now!"

God, he was so tired, almost too tired to pick up the mike and talk into it. What was the point? But if anyone would hear him, Starsky would.

"Starsky!" He shouted as loud as he could, but to his own ears it sounded little more than a whisper in the wind. "STARSKY!" There was no answer, only Mildred's voice trying to soothe his partner. "Just find me, Starsk, don't give yourself a coronary."

"Sorry, Mildred, I just gotta . . . ." Starsky's voice, now low and anguished, slipped below the static.

"Damn." He knew it was useless, but he clung to the mike. "Damnit, Starsky, just find me."

After the unrelenting heat of the sun, the first cool of evening had seemed like a blessing, but now he was freezing; the night could hardly be called a cold one, but the breeze was steady and sliced through his body like a guillotine. His legs had gone numb, giving him a reprieve from the blinding pain, but the numbness was a terrifying unknown; without the pain he had no way to gauge the seriousness of his injuries. And how much longer could he last in this condition, without shelter, or food, or water, or Starsky?

Stupid to feel so lonely—being alone should have been the least of his worries: certainly thirst was his most immediate problem; the little water Sonny had given him bought him a little time but—shit. He even missed Sonny.

Water. Food. Heat. A doctor. He wanted—he needed all of those. But what he needed most was his partner. If he had to die here and now, couldn't it be with his partner nearby?

"Starsky . . ."

"Hutch!"

Another dream. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed it wouldn't end so soon.

"Hu-u-u-t-ch!"

That was Starsky's voice; he tried to answer, but found he had no voice himself; his throat wouldn't clear . . . .

"Hutch—" Then Starsky's hands were on him, holding his face with unspeakable gentleness. "Hutch . . . ."

At least now he didn't have to die alone, at least now Starsky would be here to hold him in his last moments . . . .

"We made it, partner."

And in spite of the agonizing pain, he believed it; they'd made it, he was going to live—those loving hands holding his head weren't going to let him go, that grin shining over him wouldn't let him go.

"Babe, can you hear me?"

"St—g" Nothing more would come out.

"It's okay, it's okay, I radioed for an ambulance, it'll be here any minute, just relax." And the sweet, adoring hands caressed his face, then one found one of his own hands to hold, the other brushing the hair from his face, the soothing voice making love to him until the wail of the ambulance drowned him out, and the paramedics pulled them apart.


End file.
